


Sweet is the Air

by oneinspats



Series: swimming through fire [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Boromir Lives, Denethor lives, F/M, LotR AU, M/M, family! is! fun!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneinspats/pseuds/oneinspats
Summary: One-shot/Day-in-the-life: Aragorn and Boromir discuss what to do about Denethor, the ghost at the banquet.Post-ROTK AU wherein both Boromir and Denethor live.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel/Boromir (Son of Denethor II), Aragorn | Estel/Boromir (Son of Denethor II)
Series: swimming through fire [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608931
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76





	Sweet is the Air

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the same time-line/AU World of Naming the World & My Land is Bare but you don't have to have read those monstrosities in order to read this. Though, if you are reading those, there are some mild spoilers ahead. 
> 
> Written in response to an ask on Tumblr (and posted there originally): Aragorn and Boromir: one of them was late to/forgot about an event for the arguments thing!

‘Did you forget?’ Aragorn asks. 

‘I didn’t,’ Boromir says. 

Aragorn repeats: But did you? It’s alright if you did. 

‘I didn’t,’ Boromir insists. 

Aragorn wishes the man would just admit to it. Yes, he forgot. How hard is that to say? Yes, it slipped his mind that they were going to have a Talk with Denethor about The State of the Stewardship. Or, more truthfully, Yes, he forgot because he wanted to forget because he doesn’t want to talk to his father about The State of the Stewardship. 

‘Do you know how hard it is to corner your father?’ Aragorn asks, attempting to not be annoyed. Because he isn’t annoyed. This is only the third time this has happened, after all. And the first occurrence of Boromir’s lateness to the Denethor Conversation had a legitimate cause; the second - well it could be argued to be legitimate. A third time though? 

But he’s not annoyed. 

(Arwen, last night, _You’re annoyed._ Aragorn, insistent, _I am not annoyed._ Arwen raised an eyebrow and therefore looked eerily like her father, _For some reason I remain unconvinced. Have you told him you’re annoyed?_ This made Aragorn scowl and so he therefore looked like a statue of one of his dead relatives, _Why should I do that? I’m not annoyed. There’s nothing to talk about._ Arwen, _I’ll tell him if you don’t._ To which Aragorn tried to forcefully declare: _You will do no such thing_ but that merely prompted Arwen to pantomime opening a window and hollering out, _Boromir, your king is frustrated with your inability to manage your father._ Aragorn became horrified, _You wouldn’t dare_. At which Arwen smiled and said, _Just watch me._ ) 

‘I promise I didn’t forget - it was only, I was tied up,’ Boromir states. 

Aragorn swallows: _well that is a terrible excuse._ Because that is not a kind thing to say. It is not a worthy thing to say. Boromir deserves better than Aragorn being missish. Because they are no longer on the road. Because the Fellowship is over. The Four Hunters has long been disbanded. 

Gods, Aragorn thinks bleakly, I’ve been king for ten months now. 

‘Well, it’s terribly difficult to force him to have ten minutes of time. Your father is wily.’ 

Boromir nods slowly. Picks at his nails. Looks at the sad bushes, the dismal remains of summer roses, jasmine climbing up columns, the naked trees. Aragorn isn’t sure how to proceed. He should have practiced. Arwen told him to practice. Aragorn despairs. 

‘He is,’ Boromir finally agrees. ‘He is very wily. A puppet master. I don’t -’ he stops. Aragorn waits with great expectation. Boromir works his jaw for a bit. Does more scanning of the environment so Aragorn can’t see his eyes resting still for more than a second. Aragorn worries Boromir is going to leave. He does this when he wants out from a situation. When he wants to disappear into captain-hood and slide sideways from duty as, essentially, regent-steward.

‘I can’t do this,’ Boromir finally whispers. 

‘You have to.’ 

‘I can’t, Aragorn. I really can’t. He’s my father.’ 

Aragorn makes a sympathetic face. He wants to say that he understands but that would be a lie so he keeps quiet. He cannot imagine Elrond no longer firmly grasping the world in front of him. He cannot imagine Elrond forcing this situation upon himself. There is no dignity to it. Aragorn cannot imagine Elrond without dignity. 

Boromir is silent which causes Aragorn some small anxiety. 

‘It would be a kindness, I think, in the long-run,’ Aragorn tries after another minute of muteness from the future-steward passes. 

‘Yes. It would be. It is.’ 

‘No one need know the reason of why he is being set aside.’ 

Boromir looks at him with a sidelong expression. It is almost a sneer. ‘Everyone knows.’ 

‘Is that what frightens you? That people know and will think less of you for your father’s - um-’ 

‘Madness?’ Ah yes, here is a Boromir sneer. ‘Insanity? Lack of mental stability? Gone off with the birds?’ 

Aragorn nods. 

‘No, that doesn’t frighten me,’ Boromir says. ‘I can handle it well enough. It’s more that - well, it’s demeaning to be relegated to old, doddering man. It takes a person’s pride from them and gods, I feel like he’s lost so much already. All the things that matter, too: his position, his son to a certain degree, his father’s affection, my mother. I think, in many ways, pride is all my father has left.’ Boromir draws breath to continue only to deflate. Aragorn wants to comfort him but isn’t sure this is the time or place or, indeed, the best approach. 

It’s hard to know how to handle Boromir. He has more walls than Aragorn can fathom, at times. When he thinks he’s through one, there will be another five he didn’t anticipate. All of this alongside Boromir’s dislike of receiving reassurance. Comfort. _Vulnerable affection,_ as Arwen calls it. There is such a deep fear of being seen as weak or, Aragorn thinks, being thought to be a burden. 

Aragorn tries, ‘Your father has more than that. And he hasn’t lost you.’ 

‘I was speaking of Faramir.’ 

‘Ah.’ 

Boromir’s humourless smile. ‘It’s all a bit of a mess, isn’t it? I’m not sure what I thought would happen after the war, but it wasn’t this.’ 

‘It’s hard to know how people will take things. And, I mean,’ Aragorn shrugs helplessly. ‘There were extenuating circumstances. No one knew about the palantir.’ 

‘No.’ 

‘And, well -’ he stops. Shrugs. Boromir raises an eyebrow, but otherwise he is still as stone. As a king of old, the ones whose names are lost to time but their faces are committed to rock with paint, with chisel. To Aragorn, Boromir has always conveyed more of the regal air he thinks is expected of a king. That he, himself, should display. 

What a thing, to walk into a room of foreign dignitaries, have the King of Gondor be announced and everyone looks at Boromir. Which Aragorn cannot blame them for, because he too would look at Boromir. Honestly, he thinks not for the first time, their roles should have been switched. Boromir should be king, Aragorn can be steward. 

‘Yes?’ Boromir prompts. 

‘I was just thinking, is your father truly mad or merely desperate?’ 

Boromir opens his mouth then closes it. 

‘Sometimes, it can look like the same thing,’ Aragorn continues, gently. He is so desperately trying to be gentle. ‘It’s as you said, he has his pride. He was raised to be Steward of Gondor. To be the sole ruler of this land and then I went and showed up. He’s desperate to hold onto what is, at the end of the days, is rightfully his.’ 

A dismal nod from the future-Steward. 

‘Perhaps there can be a compromise–’

‘No,’ Boromir shakes his head. ‘Not over this. It’s all or nothing with the Stewardship. I know my father, he does not share power.’ 

‘But you always seemed to have a position of influence –’ 

‘Of his making and of his control,’ Boromir shrugs. ‘So, you will either have him as Steward or me. It won’t be both.’ 

A bird’s screech ricochets through the courtyard that is empty and feels so desolate, like they are in Hollin or on the empty steps of Emyn Muil. Boromir has turned and begun a slow, meandering tour around the garden. He pauses where an arch looks out over the city, the River Anduin snakes its silver body through the eastern land of Gondor. Osgiliath shines in the distance. Boromir’s back is to Aragorn and the Future-Steward who is essentially acting-Steward, rests a hand on columned archway. Robes drape in such a way that he is a shadow against white marble, dappled grey. Aragorn wants to go to him but suspects it would be unwelcome, at this exact moment. 

‘My father once told me that he couldn’t remember what happiness was and I said that there would be brighter days yet, that he would live to see them. And he has, there is sun and the clouds of Sauron are gone, but he is not better.’ 

Aragorn thinks that a monstrous thing to tell one’s son. To say: I can’t know warmth, so light the fire and if you do not, then all my coldness is your fault.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says instead. He suspects Boromir won’t take kindly to having his father be called monstrous. 

‘Why?’ 

Aragorn stalls in thought then just shrugs and says that he is sorry because that is a lot to say to a child. 

‘I wasn’t a child.’ 

‘Still,’ Aragorn says, if a bit lamely. 

Boromir sighs, turns to face Aragorn. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t be the one who tells him that he is being pushed aside.’ 

‘Would you be able to be present?’ 

Boromir’s lips thin out into a line and his unhappiness at the prospect is a wave how it rolls from his shoulders. But he nods in agreement, as Aragorn knew he would. Still, it is a relief to have a firm agreement. 

Or, as firm an agreement as he is going to get at this juncture. 

He had asked Faramir: _What should be done about your father?_ And Faramir had gone a little wide-eyed and said, _I don’t know. What do you mean?_ And Aragorn had sort-of motioned as if that could contain everything that had happened. Faramir had then shaken himself out of whatever place it was he went when the question was posed and declared that the person to ask is Boromir. _Boromir always knows how to handle our father,_ Faramir said with confidence. _If you want to get Denethor to do things he doesn’t want to do, you have to have Boromir do the asking._

Later, Aragorn relayed this to Arwen who said, _What family have you gotten us tangled into?_ And Aragorn had replied, primly, _I’m absolutely sure it’s worth it._ And Arwen had laughed and said she agreed and that she trusted him. It’s just, _really,_ that was what said? 

‘I’m glad you’ll be there,’ Aragorn says. ‘I’m happy to do the talking it’s only, your father is quite fearsome. Like a tempest. Or a sandstorm.’ 

‘Don’t be mean.’ But Boromir said it with a smile so Aragorn feels he can continue. 

‘Just, this time, don’t forget.’ 

Boromir mocks becoming affronted. ‘Excuse me, your royal highness, I did not forget. I got tied up in other very important affairs of state and therefore was merely late. By just five minutes, mind you, and _you_ had already scarpered.’ 

Aragorn takes his arm and steers them towards the covered archway that will slowly weave back to offices and studies and rooms of state. ‘Tempest,’ he says. ‘Remember that.’ 

‘Right. Or sandstorm.’ 

‘A deluge.’ 

‘I’m going to make a record of these.’ 

‘You don’t need to do that.’ 

Boromir grins, ‘I absolutely do.’ 

Aragorn shakes his head, ‘If this is the sort of treatment I am going to receive from you I shall pass you over in favour of Faramir.’ 

‘Oh thank the gods,’ Boromir dramatically sighs. ‘Finally, the man has a good idea. The first time I’ve heard one from him since we met.’ 

‘I wouldn’t go that far -’ 

‘Let us run across Rohan for a week, he said. It’s a good idea to chase two thousand Uruk-Hai with only four people, he said. Trust the former-traitor-witch of Rohan to be of aid on the paths of the dead, he said. Let’s hike across a mountain in February with no firewood, he said.’ 

‘These were all brilliant ideas, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ 

Boromir laughs, then, a full one. And Aragorn grins because it is a pleasant sound to hear and these are sunny days. Despite the shadows that linger in them and the ghosts of still living men who haunt the halls of this palace, there is sun and there is warmth and there is, at the end of it all, something like hope for a new start.

**Author's Note:**

> I am open to other prompts for this world/AU with any and all of the characters - feel free to leave in the comments or message me on tumblr.


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